


Indulgence

by PianoMemes



Category: Original Work
Genre: Dialogue Light, Original Fiction
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-10-24
Updated: 2018-11-05
Packaged: 2019-08-06 04:20:15
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,268
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16381268
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PianoMemes/pseuds/PianoMemes
Summary: this is one chapter of several.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> this is one chapter of several.

**A** typical.

Everyone and their dog would hate to be considered an outlier. Someone who doesn't exactly fit the cusp of normalcy. Some pseudo-intellectuals, clinging onto a popular notion of being 'woke', so-to-speak, relished in it. To be considered someone 'above his/her generation', though, in reality, it is human nature to wish to blend in. Seldom, however, do pseudo-intellectuals arise each morning, debating human nature to themselves, winning imaginary arguments in their minds, and not acknowledging how desperate they seem to others.

Hazel was one of these people, and she hated it. Self-aware of her habits and yet incapable of stopping.

 _But it's fine,_ her lover would tell her, as she finishes her daily tangents.

 _You're being you, baby, and that's all that matters,_ and those words would get her through the day. A peck on her girlfriend's cheek, and, if she was lucky, the brunettes would make out. And this was how it carried on every day.

Each day, what better than to arise in a king-sized bed, clad in none other than some blanket Naomi chose to wrap tightly around her girlfriend's passed-out form, to hear the rumble of thunder, the flash of lightning illuminating if only just briefly, the darkened room? To feel worthless and incompetent, that you are a greedy mutt leeching off of the kindness of another woman, a rodent fueled by lust, to treat each statement one makes with a sort-of aloofness, because you find it difficult to express your true emotions, to speak in near-broken sentences because to speak eloquently is impossible. Not that anyone had to put words in Hazel's mouth, her's were far more melodramatic. Her thoughts, far more of a botched attempt at profundity, far more absurd than one could ever dream.

Still, the warmth of being held, to entangle one's fingers within those of another person, Hazel, a well-versed literary fan, understood how drab such a cliché was, but she could not help but fall prey to such enticing sensations. To be admired, kissed, exalted, even, a desire which Hazel saw originally impossible to see, something all-too-familiar to her now. _An item worthy of vilification should not be handled with such care_ , she thought.  _Where were the insults? The disgust? The sheer antipathy of being associated with **her?**_  

Hazel unwillingly crept out of bed, careful to not wake her lover. Slipping into a pair of socks and a loose-fitting nightgown, she scampered through the house, her hands and knees shuffling on the rug, not primarily one to care for carpet-burn, evidently. Even as her appendages burned a bright red, even as deep, painful abrasions sure to become open wounds formed on her knees and palms, she unceasingly pressed onward, until she had reached her own room, stacked bookshelves lining the walls as if they were the pale, faded wallpaper half-assedly applied by the short woman.

She arose from the floor, wincing in pain as her palms pressed against the rug and her knees shifted as she pushed herself up. She staggered—stumbled—in an attempt to make her way towards the mahogany bookshelf. Her pale, slender fingers ran over the worn cover of a white book, once smooth, the paperboard cover of the book tore and wore out with the frequency of which it was read.

The days of her youth were full of superficial angst, a pitiful reminder she faces each time her digits trace over the cover of the book. Presumptions of deep insights, an inferiority complex that just seemed to never die, and of course, her desires. Her cliché dreams—admittedly unrealistic, as her only point of reference, unfortunately, was shitty romance novels and romantic comedies—which she envisioned as she sat in Calculus. To be chased down to an airport, to kiss under the pouring rain (absolutely stupid, she'll admit, she doesn't want to catch pneumonia), to be carried 'bridal style' out of a room after a confrontation with an ex-boyfriend, et cetera.

God—was she always that stupid? Presumably so, as this addiction began well before her adolescent years. As she was reminiscing, however, her thoughts were abruptly stricken from her mind as a feminine voice called out, presumably from the kitchen.

"Babe," Naomi would call out, yawning as she did, of course, resulting in her having to call for Hazel once more, "honey!"

"C-c-coming, s-sweetie," Hazel fumbled through her words, as per the norm, and dashed out of her room, having to slow down on account of the earlier abrasions which stained her near-blemish-free limbs.


	2. Vilification

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> warning: this chapter features the brief mention of self-harm.

**T** he bathroom mirror wasn't exactly something Hazel enjoyed staring into.

It only projected her hideous features for her own eyes to reflect upon. An excuse she would make for herself, from a young age constantly came to the forefront of her mind— _At least your teeth are pristine, and your hair is well kept. Your face may look repugnant, and all-around horrible, but your teeth and hair are great._

And horrible, her face certainly was—or, at least to her. She looked like a clown. Her skin was sickeningly pale, akin to that of a fresh corpse. Her large lips were puffy and red, swollen from her habit of biting them when agitated. Her thin eyes stuck out like a sore thumb as the bags underneath—a testament to her sleepless nights which primarily consist of passing out and being taken to a proper bed—had grown large and grey over the years. She brought a finger to her chin, more specifically the small mole that dotted her jawline. Her beady, black pupils were oddly reminiscent of a snake's eyes.

She had already brushed her teeth and hair, she was just staring at the horrifying mess which, on others, would be clown paint. She momentarily turned to glance at the doorway. As much as she found it rude to admit, her importunate lover was occasionally bothersome. Naomi would often creep behind Hazel and shriek, startling her. The dark-skinned woman was a fan of practical jokes, conventional or otherwise—not that it was particularly _wrong_ of her to enjoy such, just that it was irritating, at times. Sometimes Hazel's patience ran thin—sometimes she snapped at Naomi, screaming at her, telling her to "fuck off". And as she reminisced upon said events, a wave of guilt washed over her. Hazel glanced at her phone, resting on the side of the sink. 38° Fahrenheit, she could make up the excuse of it being cold. She opened her medicine cabinet and reached for her razor blade. Once it had traveled past the half-empty bottle of Xanax, it froze. She wouldn't dare—not out of a sense of self-preservation, but out of guilt for even  _considering_ defying a promise made on their third anniversary.

_Rats stick to a pack, and what kind of rat would you be if you went against your leader's wishes?_

_A worthless one. Far more worthless than any kind you've ever been._

_A dirty rat who's unfit for this world, a grubby little rodent worthy of death. Eat your rat poison, rat. Bite the cat, rat. See what that fucking gets you._

Hazel threw the cabinet shut and punched the mirror on the other side. She cracked the glass, stray shards lodging in her bruised and now-bloody knuckles.

How would she explain this to Naomi?

_I had a panic attack and I almost played tic-tac-toe on my wrists, but I punched a mirror instead._

Right, because she would accept that and ask no further questions. Hazel's head collided with the cracked glass with a clear and distinct  _thud._ "Fuck," the brunette would groan out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this is the first independent work i've created, therefore, criticism on each chapter is greatly encouraged. however, i will not tolerate pure disrespect towards me or what i am attempting to craft.


End file.
